A Time To Heal
by sabor ice
Summary: What will it take to mend a broken heart after disaster strikes? This is something that both Galahad and Tristan will have to figure out for themselves. Final Chapter up! Thanks to all the reviewers! Please read and review!
1. Default Chapter

_Title: A Time To Heal_

_Author: sabor ice_

_Rating: PG-13_

_Story Status: Not completed._

_Summary: How much will it take to mend a a broken heart? This is something both Galahad and Tristan will have to find out for themselves._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one except for any original characters and this here story._

_Author's Note: I don't know how many chapters will be added onto this piece of writing, for it could range to a few to many. I am just playing it by ear here. Enjoy!_

_Feedback: Yes, please._

**One**

The knights sat silently in their own corners of the outdoor tavern. There was music and ale and bar wenchs galore, yet the knights' minds were clouded with the thoughts of the past days' events. Two fortnights past their brother, Percival, had been killed in the line of duty. Most everyone was torn by his sudden and unexpected departure into the netherworld. A fortnight past Percival was buried in the sad, little cemetary with the other fallen heroes, knights, brothers. This night was upon the knights, yet still they were grieving in their own ways.

The mood among the men shifted slightly from its sullen solitude. Lancelot and Arthur had begun a game of cards with some local patrons. (Lancelot was cheating, of course, but he wasn't about to let the others know that). Gawain, as usual, was in a corner surrounded by beautiful barmaids. He had a girl on each knee and one hanging around his neck playfully. Dagonet and Bors were at the bar with Vanora, Bors' girlfriend. They spoke until Bors asked Vanora to sing a song for the men. She at first declined, but then agreed and walked into the middle of the square proudly.

Galahad's eyes watched her from behind his mug of ale for a moment, before shifting them toward the lone knight. Tristan sat at the furthest part of the outdoor tavern, skillfully playing with his knife before using it to cut up an apple. Galahad watched as he slipped each apple piece into his mouth, savouring the juices as if it were wine from the Garden of Eden.

The scout's gaze did not look up as Vanora began to softly sing her tune. The words seemed to course through his body, stiffling his actions as he cut his apple up. Galahad watched the slip of his blade cut his finger. Tristan, not caring, wiped the blood from his cut on his pants and continued eating. From Galahad's view, it seemed more than a small cut. The blade really dug deep into his skin, yet the older knight's face stayed emotionless. That was his way, though, to not show how he felt. Most would think that to be an inhuman nature, but Galahad found it to be a dictator for grief and pain.

As Vanora ended her song, the knights cheered before going about their business. Then, Galahad saw something he swore he'd never see. Tristan picked up a glass of ale and drank it all. Soon after, he picked up two more and drank them as well. Galahad rubbed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing. Tristan getting drunk! Now, he had seen most everything!

After finishing his third or fourth mug of ale, Tristan began to depart. Galahad slowly got up, but waited a time before following. (He did not want to make it so obvious that he was following the scout). As he passed out from the tavern area, Galahad walked into pure darkness. He could hardly see, save for light coming from lit torches. Suddenly, he came upon Tristan sitting in the snow. He approached carefully, so not to surprise the drunk and armed man. He wasn't intending to lose an eye over foolishness this night.

Tristan's head was cocked back on the wall behind him. His eyes were closed, but he did not appear to be asleep or unconcious in any way. Galahad stayed back a few paces as he looked down on the knight.

"Tristan?" Galahad whispered.

The only reply was a quiet moan from the scout's lips. Galahad stepped closer to him.

"Go away," Tristan muttered, making Galahad jump back slightly, surprised.

"You're drunk, knight, I think it'd be best you get to your quarters," Galahad said, almost timidly.

Tristan turned his head and opened one eye to Galahad. He could hardly move any other part of his body, save for his lips. He was completely out of it.

"Make me," Tristan slurred out. Then, he began talking to himself. "I don't care...I don't--I don't care anymore. Not right...wasn't his time...wasn't...no...my fault--"

The knight's words were cut off as he passed out head first into the snow bank beside him. Galahad stepped over Tristan and quickly sat him up. He listened to his breathing until he could hear Tristan was breathing fine. Struggling a bit, Galahad finely propped the scout up enough to throw him over his shoulders. Now, Tristan was definately taller and more built than the small-framed Galahad, but there was some muscle behind the youngest knight none-the-less. He heaved his body upright, Tristan still across his shoulders like a cloak.

Once Galahad finally made it to his quarters, he found it severely occupied by Gawain and some barmaids. He left before anyone noticed his presence and made his way towards Tristan's place. He backed into the small room and kicked the door shut with his foot. Fianlly, he collapsed backwards onto the scout's bed. He sighed deeply, catching his breath. He ran his fingers through his curly hair and looked down at Tristan. The knight was still out cold, and no amount of anything was about to get him awake tonight.

Galahad patted his shoulder and crossed the room. He exited the scout's room, closing the door behind him. As Galahad made his way towards Gawain's quarters (since Gawain occupied Galahad's place,) he bumped into Lancelot.

"Hey, Galahad," the knight said. He was also slightly drunk. "What happened to Tristan?"

"I don't know," Galahad lied. "He had a few drinks and went back to his quarters I think."

Lancelot chuckled, clasping Galahad's shoulder lightly. "Don't worry, I'm sure Tristan will be his usual charming self by morning!"

Galahad let out a forced laugh as Lancelot left him. His eyes looked back at Tristan's quarters, shook his head, and blew out a sigh.

"Sleep well, friend," he said.

Then, he continued walking back again to find sleep himself. Galahad lay in his bed (actually it was Gawain's,) in a restless state. His arms were folded behind his head, propping it up a bit. His eyes carvings from knives in the ceilings. He saw each knight's name in the wood. The last names were Percival and Tristan, but written in Percival's handwriting. (The lone knight wouldn't care to have his name be known anywhere anyway).

Turning on his side, Galahad blew out another sigh. He wondered again about Percival, but then his thoughts wandered toward Tristan again and again. He could tell the two had a special bond. Tristan acted differently after Percival's death. His attitude had changed, become more sullen than usual. Then, there was the drinking to consider. Tristan never touched a drop beforehand. Whatever was between them before, Galahad knew now was gone...broken...severed...by Percival's untimely death. As the night dragged on, Galahad finally closed his eyes and found sleep.

**End, 'One.'**


	2. Chapter Two

**Two**

When morning came Galahad made his way directly to Tristan's quarters. He went early enough so not to be noticed, but to his surprise, he was caught halfway to the older knight's place.

"Galahad!" came Gawain's cheery voice from behind.

The youngest knight froze and turned immediately as he was summoned. Gawain reached Galahad at the top of a small dirt mound and clasped his friend's shoulder lightly.

"There you are, Galahad," he breathed out. "I was just coming to get you."

"What is it?" Galahad wondered.

"Arthur wants us all to gather for a meeting in ten minutes," Gawain said, and noticed the look of anticipation in Galahad's eyes. "Finish up whatever you need to but hurry up about it."

Gawain started back down the dirt mound towards his quarters before turning back and adding, "Oh, and go get Tristan while you're add it."

"He hasn't been out at all yet this morning?" Galahad was surprised at hearing this. He figured he wouldn't have found the scout when he went to his quarters, but he would've checked nonetheless.

The long-haired knight shook his head. "No, Arthur said to let him sleep. He has been going out extra early these past few days."

"That's not like Tristan. Has no one thought to look in on him?" Galahad asked.

Gawain grinned and made a saluting motion with his first two fingers. "I just did, knight. Ten minutes, Galahad!"

Galahad watched until Gawain was out of sight. Then, he turned and made his way towards the scout's quarters. When he arrived, he took in a deep breath before entering Tristan's room. His bluish-green eyes surveyed the interior. Tristan was not in his bed, but instead was standing erect facing a wall. He was dressed for the most part, save for his tunic which he held in one hand loosely.

Galahad slowly approached the knight, who made no attempt to move or speak to him. Standing beside him, Galahad's gaze ran over Tristan's emotionless face. The knight payed no heed to Galahad's presense as it seemed. They both stood there like statues, silent giants with more to tell than the people that live around them.

"Tristan," Galahad managed to say.

No reply.

Licking his lips and taking a step closer, Galahad repeated, "Tristan."

In that same instant, the scout grabbed Galahad by the shirt and yanked him up to his face. Galahad's face held a hint of surprise as the older knight kept him slightly suspended in the air. He tried to break the scout's grip and release himself, but it was most difficult indeed. A moment later, Tristan released Galahad, who stumbled backwards a few paces. The younger knight straightened his shirt and took two steps forward.

"You are to report with the rest of us to Arthur in ten minutes," Galahad said straight out.

Tristan had managed to slip his tunic over his head, but still stared blankly at the wall ahead of him.

"Did you hear me, Tristan?" he asked hopefully.

The older knight turned his back to him, and Galahad saw his head lower a bit.

"I understand, now go," was the scout's response.

The youngest knight gulped hard, as his heart secretly wanted to go out the older knight. His throat and mouth ran dry as he found there was nothing more he could say to Tristan at this time. When Galahad didn't leave, Tristan half-looked back at him, yet his eyes remained toward the floorboards.

"S-Sorry," Galahad said in a jittery tone of voice.

He turned quickly to leave. As he made it to the door, Galahad peered back and watched the lone knight for a moment longer as he stood in silence. His eyes now directed toward the ground as well as Galahad left Tristan's quarters.

After leaving Tristan, Galahad went directly to the outdoor tavern area where the others were meeting. When he arrived, everyone was all ready there, bar Tristan. He greeted his fellow knights personally and kept his regular upbeat mood going as he usually did. Taking a seat on the end of a bench, he awaited for Arthur to begin speaking. A few moments later, their commander stood in the middle of the knights.

"Knights, brothers in arms," he began. "There has been recent woad sightings near the North Wall."

Arthur paused, and the knights looked over as Tristan had finally arrived.

"Fashionably late again," Gawain whispered to Bors.

"Think's he's special," Bors muttered back.

Galahad wanted to make them eat their words, yet, he knew they could not know. Tristan leaned up against a wooden post and crossed his arms. The knights turned their attention back to Arthur.

"As I was saying, there has been recent woad sightings and a couple attacks up near the North Wall," Arthur said. "I have been asked to take care of this issue immediately."

"But, Arthur, we are on leave!" Bors shouted from his spot between Dagonet and Gawain. "It was promised to us by you, yourself!"

"Duty comes before pleasure, Bors," Arthur replied sternly. "But, I will say this. You must realize the position this puts me in, knights. I will only send two of you out as of now. You knights will have your leave, but still will take shifts starting tonight."

Exhasperated sighs came from each of the knights.

"Well, it's better than nothing, right, Bors?" Dagonet said.

The burly man nodded and shook his hand dismissively.

"If the trouble proves too great, though, we will all journey out to the North Wall," Arthur added. "I have decided that Tristan and Galahad will take the first shift."

Galahad perked up at Arthur's words. His gaze traveled to the lone knight, who shrugged and seemed unaffected by it. It was purely luck that Arthur would choose them to patrol first. Galahad, as well as the majority of the knights, seemed ultimately pleased with Arthur's decision.

As the knights dispersed, Galahad followed Tristan as they went to prepare for the first patrol. Their horses had all ready been prepped for the day and night. Galahad didn't know if he should say anything or not, so he kept quiet. Mounting up, Galahad looked over at the scout, who had retrieved his hawk friend, Illiana, and mounted up beside him.

Then, Galahad said the most stupid thing he could, "I like your hawk."

Tristan peered over at the youngest knight, who turned red and then pale from embarassment. Quirking an eyebrow, Tristan led his horse from the stables. Galahad put his palm to his head and sighed deeply. Idiot, he thought to himself. Then, Galahad took up his reigns and rode out after Tristan.

**End, 'Two.'**


	3. Chapter Three

**Three**

It took most of the day to reach the boundaries surrounding the North Wall. Both Galahad and Tristan kept their weapons close at hand. The woods were quiet almost to the point it was omnious. The trees were sleeping now in early winter, but looked dead to the naked eye. Their branches curved and twisted like creatures arms. Galahad shuddered slightly at the site. He was not afraid, per se, but he would still mich rather walk in the graveyard at night then lay eyes upon the forests now.

Tristan, as usual, was cooly riding onward, not seeming bothered by his surroundings at all. His hawk stay on his forearm always, nibling at his clothed fingers playfully. Galahad wondered how one person could let everything they feel bottled up inside. It was queer, disturbing, and somehow almost unnatural. He could see why Tristan was this way, though. He had always been quiet like this, never telling anyone anything. Galahad was beginning to think Tristan just didn't care. He lived to fight and fought for himself. The two riders stopped their horses and peered around the perimeter.

"I will follow the trail ahead and take a look around," Tristan said. "You back-track along the forest edge; call me if you find anything."

Galahad silently nodded and manuevered his horse around Tristan's. He rode back to the omnious forest and sighed heavily.

"Great," Galahad said to himself. "Have Galahad go and check out the creepy trees. This is truly my day, isn't it?"

He kept beating himself up with his own words. Galahad dismounted and headed into the forest, his sword at his side.

"Gods, Galahad, you're such an idiot! The first time you speak with him, you have to go and say something stupid," he said. "'I like your hawk'" What next will you say wrong?"

Suddenly, Galahad felt a nudge on his shoulder. He jumped as he turned to see Tristan come out of nowhere.

"Holy Gods, Tristan!" Galahad exclaimed. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a ghost in the trees the way you sneak up behind someone like that!"

"I usually have that effect on people," Tristan replied proudly, as he walked ahead of Galahad. "But, you, my friend, speak loud enough for the whole damned forest to hear."

Turning pale from embarassment, Galahad wondered how much Tristan had heard. A lump stayed at the back of the younger knight's throat as he followed the scout. The scout looked back at him momentarily and quirked his eyeborw. Then, he continued on, walking and searching. Illiana the hawk flew overhead and let out a high-pitched screech to her master below.

"The tree tops are safe," Tristan said.

"How did you gather that?" Galahad asked.

"A little bird told me," Tristan said sarcastically.

"She speaks to you, and you understand her?" Galahad was intrigued.

"Let's just say she and I have an understanding of one another," the scout answered.

Tristan unsheathed his slender blade and began cutting down vine-like weeds and brush. Galahad went to the other side of him and helped.

"We will make camp here tonight. You can use the brush and sticks around here to start a fire," Tristan said, turning to leave.

"Where are you going?" the youngest knight asked.

Tristan responded without looking back, "We've got to eat, haven't we?"

Galahad caught a glimpse of the bow and arrows strapped to his back as Tristan walked from sight.

"Sure, you go hunt," Galahad whispered, "I'll play the woman's role once again...no problem..."

The knight scratched his head as he began looking for suitable materials for building a fire. He knew that it wouldn't take Tristan long to find and kill something. If Galahad wanted to eat cooked meat tonight, he knew he had better get the fire going quickly.

After starting a small blaze, Galahad sat in front of the flames and cracked his back, neck, and knucles. When Tristan returned, he had brought with him four rabbits. Sitting back, Galahad watched as Tristan did all the cleaning and skinning and cooking without a second glance up at Galahad. The young knight wasn't surprised at Tristan's habits; the scout had been used to being alone often.

The two knights ate with exchanging a single word. Tristan spent half his time feeding bits of rabbit to his hawk. Galahad watched intently, but averted his eyes whenever the older knight shot him a look. After they finished eating, Tristan released Illiana into the cool night air.

"You have trained her well," Galahad said.

"She's not trained," Tristan replied. "I let her go, but she always comes back. It's all part of our understanding, I told you."

"Perhaps she sees something in you."

"She'd be the first."

"I'm not so sure."

Tristan's eyes looked up at Galahad, who swore he could see rings of fire burn withing the scout's gaze.

"What are you getting at, Galahad?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. It's nothing; I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? Have you said something wrong?"

Galahad knew Tristan was trying to walk him into a trap. A mere mind game where winner takes all. The young knight clasped his hand over his knees and shrugged uneasily.

"I meant nothing by it, Tristan, really," Galahad protested.

"Then, perhaps, Galahad, you would remember well to not speak of things that could cause trouble," Tristan snapped. He was hurting; boy, was he hurting.

"Or heartbreak," Galahad's words trailed off.

"What was that?" the scout asked.

Galahad's bluish-green eyes flashed towards Tristan. "I said maybe we should sleep for it will soon be day-break."

The scout's lips held a scowl still, for Galahad knew he had hit a sore spot in Tristan's heart. Galahad turned away from the older knight and lay down on his right side. He kept his sword near him as he closed his eyes and slept.

Galahad's eyes opened slightly, only enough to survey his surroundings. It was still dark and the fire had dimmed to a soft glow. He turned onto his left side quietly and saw the outline of Tristan's body sitting on the other side of the dying flames. He listened, yet Galahad heard nothing come from the knight; he was sure the scout was still awake, though. He opened his mouth to say something, but figured he had all ready caused enough trouble between them for one night.

Near dawn, Galahad and Tristan were met by Bors and Dagonet.

"We've come to relieve you, knights," Dagonet said. "Go home until your next watch."

Galahad was in as bad as mood as Tristan was by now. He nodded curtly to the two knights and mounted his dark brown steed. Flipping back his curly hair from his face, Galahad looked over at Tristan for a moment before kicking the flanks of his horse and riding back to town.

**End, 'Three.'**


	4. Chapter Four

**Four**

As Galahad rode back to town, he eyed Tristan as the scout headed off in the opposite direction, down the south road. He paused for a moment, his eyes darting from the road he was on to the one Tristan traveled. As soon as Tristan was far enough ahead, Galahad began to follow him. He knew the knight's sense of hearing was sharp, so Galahad kept back, a half a mile between them. The young knight noticed that his steed kept faultering in his footsteps, signaling to Galahad the animal's exhaustion. He was tempted to turn back and refresh his horse in town, but then, Galahad would lose Tristan's fresh trail if he did.

Urging his horse on, Galahad had to make up for the lost time. He had too keep up his pace now, so not to lose sight of fresh tracks. The snow was lightly drifting now, and made the horse tracks almost unrecognizable to the searching eye. As soon as the snow had settled on the ground once again, Galahad had better view of what was ahead of him.

"I swear there really are ghosts," Galahad said to himself. "Damnit, why does Tristan always have to be right about things like that!"

When Galahad heard the soft neighing of Tristan's horse nearby, he quickly dismounted and hid from sight. Peering out from behind a small statue, Galahad saw Tristan walk into yet another omnious place of unparticular interest to the younger knight.

"The graveyard," Galahad muttered silently. "It had to be the graveyard!"

He quickly quieted once Tristan came into clear view again. The knight kept his back to the bottom of the ancient stone statue, while turning his torso so to have another glimpse. Tristan was knelt before a cross and a fresh grave. Galahad swallowed hard, his heart racing with anticipation. The scout wiped the snow from the engraved letters on the cross. Then, he bowed his head toward the grave and began to weep. Galahad gasped softly, for it was the first time he had witnessed Tristan cry, let alone express emotion at all!

The older knight's head snapped upward and stared in Galahad's direction. The knight had plastered himself against the stone statue and held his breath, praying that Tristan wouldn't find him there. After a few moments, Galahad had conjured up enough courage to look again. By then, though, Tristan had gone.

Galahad stood slowly and cautiously crossed the graveyard. He crouched in front of the grave Tristan had wept at. Wiping the rest of the snow from the name on the marker, Galahad sighed deeply. It read 'Percival.' He nodded, remembering very well the few days past when Percival, his friend and fellow knight, had been buried here. He whispered a prayer under his breath and stood.

The wind had picked up again as Galahad made his way back to his horse. He wrapped his cloak tightly around him and rode back to town. Galahad hadn't passed Tristan at all, so he was somewhat relieved. He guessed Tristan wouldn't return quite yet; he wouldn't want to let anyone know he had wept, wept for Percival.

As the knight neared town, a sudden sense of urgency rose in his soul. Ahead he could see his worried fellow knights. He knew something terrible must have occured. His first notion was that it was Tristan. Galahad's heart sank as he raced to the group of men, who now seemed to be carrying someone. Galahad felt gravely ill all of a sudden as he reached the group inside one of the tents. He speculated from off to the side as the men worked on a fellow knight. It was not Tristan, though. It was Gawain. The long-haired knight had been struck through the shoulder and left flank by arrows.

"What happened?" Galahad demanded to know.

"Bloody woads attacked 'em! Didn't even see them coming!" Bors shouted in response.

A flare of anger rose within the youngest knight. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he turned and made his way outside. By then, Tristan had returned on his horse. The scout had returned; the scout always returned.

"Where are you going?" he asked Galahad from his perch.

The young knight did not even look up at the scout, but continued on his way. Tristan, insulted, brought his horse around in front of the enraged Galahad.

"Let me pass, Tristan!" Galahad said.

Tristan did not move.

"I said let me pass, damnit!" the youngest knight repeated impatiently. "Gawain was wounded by those damned rogues, the woads! I will see justice be done upon them now!"

"By getting yourself killed?" Tristan questioned. "Lay down your sword, Galahad, for this is not a fight you can win."

"Gawain may die because of them!"

"All the more reason for you to return and be by your friend's side."

"It is not up for you to tell me what to do!"

"You're right, I'm not telling you what to do. I'm telling you what not to do."

Galahad managed to swirve around the knight and his horse and begin to stalk away.

"You're actions are foolish, knight! You know what I say is true!"

The younger knight froze in his tracks. His shoulder were slouched inward as he turned on the balls of his feet to face the scout.

Galahad's eyes defiant. "At least I'm risking my life to serve justice for Gawain. What did you ever do for Percival?"

Tristan's eyes were piercing. "That comment, I will not accept, knight."

Galahad smirked as he also was holding back sullen emotions. "Now, I was only speaking the truth."

As Galahad turned away once again, Tristan dismounted behind him.

"Stand down now, boy, or I'll be forced to act on your behalf," Tristan said in a low voice.

A chuckle escaped Galahad's lips. As he turned back again, he was suddenly hit in the head from behind. Galahad dropped to the ground, knocked unconcious.

When Galahad awoke, his first thoughts revolved around what had happened. Suddenly, he shot upward. He felt the bulge on the back of his neck and sighed. Tristan really wasn't kidding when he said he would take action. Did it have to be so drastic, though, Galahad wondered. Then, he remembered why he had been hit. He was trying to leave to find woads and kill them or be killed.

"Gawain!" he shouted, looking around frantically.

He had obviously been brought into a tent after his encounter with Tristan. Jumping to his feet, Galahad peeled back the curtain and laid his gaze upon Gawain. The knight was deathly still, yet looked peaceful. Tears began to well in Galahad's eyes as he approached Gawain.

"He lives," came Tristan's voice as he entered the tent. "And, I see you will, too."

As Galahad was about to speak, he felt Gawain squeeze his hand lightly.

"Galahad," the long-haired knight whispered.

Sitting down on a stool beside Gawain's bed, he was relieved to hear the knight speak. Galahad looked back, but Tristan had all ready left the tent. Although tempted to follow him once again, Galahad decided to stay with Gawain for now.

**End, 'Four.'**


	5. Chapter Five

**Five**

It was late when Galahad managed to steal himself away from Gawain's quarters. The older knight had fought sleep as long as possible, before drifitng peacefully into a deep slumber. Galahad exited his friend's room and drew in a breath of crisp, fresh air. The sun had been set for at least an hour or so, for the soft pink rays were no longer visible on the horizon. He made his way to the tavern then, only to find it pretty much deserted. Everyone was out taking care of some sort of business. Galahad sure felt like the slacker of the group at the moment.

Making his way over to the bar, Galahad treated himself to a mug of ale. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, only then noticing it had a cut over top of it. He turned his hand over so the palm of it was on the side of his face. He took a drink of ale and set the mug down again.

"You look like a bloody toad," a voice came from behind him.

Galahad turned around in his seat to see Tristan playing with his knives in the corner of the room. He looked around the room and then back at Tristan. He wondered if he had just come in, or if he had been there all along.

"Yeah?" Galahad said lazily. "Well, I feel like one."

His tone of voice was sluggish, as if he were completely exhausted. Galahad's eyes narrowed as he took up his ale again and drank.

Suddenly, his mug flew from his hands as it was struck by one of Tristan's throwing daggers. The mug crashed to the floor loudly. Galahad lept off his barstool and started for Tristan. A look of disbelief and angst played upon his face. Tristan, who looked half bemused, shrugged and stood once Galahad reached him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, knight!" Galahad asked. "First you stalk me, then, you deny me the drink? What's wrong with you? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Galahad had Tristan backed into the wall, his face now less than five inches away from the scout.

"Just returning the favor, boy," Tristan returned in his lispy sort of words. "If I recall correctly, you denied me the drink and then followed me afterwards for two days, like a little lost dog. What's the matter, Galahad, can't think for yourself?"

Without another moment's notice, Galahad bent inward and pressed his lips against Tristan's. His hand came behind the scout's head so not to let Tristan pull away from him. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, their lips parted. The two knights looked at one another with disbelief and confusion. Galahad still had Tristan pinned to the wall. One of his hand's was behind the scout's head still, as the other lay across Tristan's collarbone.

Tristan breathed sharply against Galahad, his defiant gaze upon him. Galahad was not intimidated, for he did not back down, as silence stayed between the two knights.

"What do you think you are doing, knight?" the scout managed to ask.

"You told me I couldn't think for myself. Well, I just did," Galahad replied.

Tristan managed to raise his hands enough to force Galahad off of him. Galahad backed away slowly; Tristan would not look at him again. He watched as the scout grabbed his weapons and fled the scene. Galahad was left alone; he walked back to the bar and poured himself another drink. As he brought the ale to his lips, he puased for a moment, before smashing the mug against the wall in front of him. He ran down the bar, knocking all its condiments off in the process. Then, he turned his anger to the single tables and chair, pushing them all over until the entire tavern was a complete mess.

Galahad was angry with Tristan for taunting and then denying him, but he was more upset with himself for his foolish actions. He went into his quarters and slammed the door, forgetting that Gawain slept in the next room over. Galahad paced across the floor.

"How stupid could you be, Galahad! You always act; you never think anymore! How could you do that! You knew what Tristan was like; you knew it was too soon! You knew, you knew!"

"Knew what?" Gawain's calm voice came as he wobbily stood at the door.

Galahad couldn't face Gawain now; he couldn't face anyone. He was both hurt and confused. He didn't know what was wrong with him or why he was acting like this. He brushed past Gawain quickly and rushed back out into the open night.

"Galahad!" Gawain called after him.

Stupidly, Galahad turned back when Gawain called out to him. The knight was on one knee now, trying to catch his breath. Galahad had momentarily forgotten Gawain's arrow injuries. He saw his friend crumple to the ground in pain and rushed back to his side. He placed Gawain's arm around his shoulder and helped him back to his quarters. As Gawain lay back in his bed, Galahad's head stayed lowered.

"Forgive me, Gawain," he whispered. "I had forgotten."

Galahad pulled a cover up to his chest; Gawain gasped as Galahad's fingertips brushed over his wounds. Gawain's long, beautiful hair was spread across his shoulders. His arms lay close to his side, his palm turned upright towards Galahad's hand. Galahad gently pushed the knight's tunic up enough to inspect his wounds. He ran his fingers softly over the two wrapped punctured wounds. He heard Gawain moan quietly as his eyes closed from exhaustion.

"Damn those woads, damn Tristan," he thought. "And, damn me, too."

Galahad began to stand to leave, but his arm was caught in Gawain's grasp. He looked down to see the older's knight's blue gaze staring back at him.

"Don't leave me," Gawain said.

Galahad's first instinct was to leave as planned, but when Gawain spoke to him as he did, he found he couldn't refuse him. Somehow he couldn't recognize before hand how much Gawain really meant to him. Sometimes it takes something terrible to happen for one to realize life is often taken for granted. Galahad suddenly realized exactly how Tristan felt towards the late Percival.

Galahad stayed with Gawain until near dawn. He sat up and stretched, realizing he must had fallen asleep for some time. He went to the door and walked outside. He sighed deeply, knowing that it would be on his mind until he went to speak with Tristan. He wasn't sure if Tristan would be out scouting or at his place. As he started towards Tristan's quarters, Galahad ran into Lancelot half-way.

"Hey, Galahad, how's Gawain doing?" Lancelot asked.

"Last time I saw him, he was sleeping," Galahad answered. "Any of you guys ee Tristan around here?"

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you heard?"

Galahad shook his head. "No, heard what?"

"Arthur's put Tristan under house arrest. Some of the boys saw him hurrying away from the tavern just before it was discovered destroyed on the inside," Lancelot replied.

Gulping hard, Galahad managed to say, "Are they...are they sure it was Tristan?"

"He was the only one they saw, then it was reported to Arthur. Arthur confronted him."

"Did he confess?" the younger knight wondered.

"No, he didn't say anything. Didn't think he cared," Lancelot replied. "I've got some things to take care of. I'll try and go see Gawain later. Take care, knight."

Galahad nodded absentmindedly as Lancelot left him beside himself.

"What have I done?" Galahad said to himself.

**End, 'Five.'**


	6. Chapter Six

**Six**

Once he had heard the news, Galahad knew at once that he must speak with Arthur. What could he say, though, to make his commander it was him and not Tristan who destroyed the tavern out of rage? Galahad couldn't even understand how someone could accuse Tristan of such a crime. The knight never drank (save for one occasion, but that was out of grief,) and he saved all the anger and desperation inside for the battlefield. Arthur would have to believe him that Tristan was not guilty. Galahad went directly to Arthur's quarters, demanding to see the commander right away.

As he entered the large tent, Arthur saw urgency in Galahad's eyes and lay down his documents to stand and face the knight. Galahad, thought estatic, kept as calm as possible under the circumstances.

"What can I do for you, Galahad?" Arthur asked in his deep voice.

"Sir, I've come about the incident concerning Tristan," Galahad said bluntly. "I understand the tavern was destoyed, but what makes you believe Tristan would do this? He has no motive to commit such a petty crime."

The commander folded his hands behind his back. "Tristan was the only person seen coming from the tavern at the time."

Galahad swallowed hard. "Maybe that's because the guilty party was still inside the tavern."

"Continue," Arthur directed.

"Tristan was at the tavern, but only to try to talk some sense into my head. After he left, I became overly drunk and destroyed the condiments at the bar and turned over tables and chairs," Galahad confessed.

Arthur took in this information, but a sense of uncertainty still lied within him. "Is what you speak of the truth, Galahad?"

"On my honor, it is the truth. If anyone should be under house arrest, it should be me," Galahad replied.

"I'll not be putting anyone else under house arrest," Arthur said. "I must tell you, Galahad, that I had a feeling it was not Tristan. As you said, he had no motive to do anything of that sort. But, I would not have thought it was you, either."

Galahad knelt before his commander. "Forgive me, Arthur. It was a foolish mistake and it shall never happen again."

Arthur helped Galahad to his feet and patted him on the shoulders. "You are forgiven, brother. We all make mistakes and I'm glad that you came forward with the truth. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go make amends with my scout."

"Please, sir, let me go," Galahad said. "I, if anyone, need to make peace with Tristan."

Arthur agreed and Galahad nodded briefly to him his thanks before exiting the tent. Crossing the camp, Galahad found himself in front of Tristan's quarters. His hair blew into his face slightly as he stared at the door. Shuddering slightly, he turned the handle and entered.

The room was silent, deathly silent, for it sent chills up the young knight's spine. He quietly closed the door behind him and proceeded inside. The room was light by a single candle that sat on a nearby table. Tristan was sitting opposite the candle, sending his knife through the fire and then pulling it back out. He looked up at Galahad as he entered, his eyes dark with specks of the flames within them. Then, the scout began throwing his daggers at the wall. The first dagger hit the wood. The second dagger hit the first dagger, and the third dagger hit the second, splitting it in two.

Galahad chuckled nervously, "You never miss, do you?"

"What do you want, Galahad?" Tristan asked sharply.

"I've come to tell you that you are no longer on house arrest," Galahad replied. "Arthur has made it so."

"Why would he do that, I wonder?" Tristan said.

"Because I told him the truth. I told him you had nothing to do with the damage done to the bar; it was me," Galahad answered.

"Ah," Tristan grumbled. "Then, what are you doing here?"

Galahad took a step forward. "I've come to apologize."

"I don't want your pity," Tristan said in a low growl. His eyes averted towards the tabletop.

"Well, you have my apology, but never my pity," Galahad reminded. "Pity is for fools who have nothing better to do that mope about everything that has gone wrong in their lives."

Tristan stared up at him and snickered. "Such a definition you give pity, when I've seen you plenty of times being...pitiful."

"Not anymore," Galahad declared. "I'm tired of being a frightened boy."

Tristan stabbed his last knife into the table and stood. "And, what, do you believe will make you a man?"

Galahad took a few steps closer to the scout. "Taking some initiative and responsability for starters."

Tristan chuckled lightly. "Is that all? That doesn't make you a man."

"And fight for what I believe in. Fight for things in life that I desire," Galahad added. "And, what I desire, Tristan, is you."

Tristan shook his head and brushed past Galahad. "I'm sorry for your disappointment."

Galahad's heart broke in two and his blood ran cold. He had been denied by Tristan not once, but twice now. Perhaps he was wrong about him. Perhaps there was nothing he could do to help his damnable soul. He turned and followed the scout outside.

"Why do you run from me so?" Galahad asked. "Are you truly that afriad to let someone into your heart again?"

"I do not fear letting someone in," Tristan replied. "I only fear of what will happen afterwards if I do."

"Everything in this world is unpredictable," Galahad said. "That's why we must live. Here. Now."

Tristan paused for a moment, before leaving Galahad alone in the snow once again.

**End, 'Six.'**


	7. Chapter Seven

**Seven**

"Knights," Arthur said looking up at his men. "We have new orders. Bishop Germanius of Rome is expected to be arriving within the next week. Our orders are to ride beyond Hadrian's Wall and secure his safe arrival."

"Our freedom, Bors," Gawain nudged his friend.

"Mmm, I can almost taste it," the burly man replied with a grin.

"The job isn't done yet, knights, so well remember that anything can still happen," Arthur reminded.

Lancelot stood by his friend and clasped his shoulder. "Come on, Arthur. Don't tell me you haven't thought of what it will be like after we have our papers. We'll be free men, legally."

"We are players in an ever-changing world, and must be prepared for whatever comes our way," Arthur added, but acknowledged his friend's comment. Arthur, too, was ready for some change.

Galahad and Tristan listened to the others as they spoke more of freedom and home. Neither of them joined in, yet they both yearned for the day they would get their documents and their 'pact' with Rome would be finished.

Gawain came beside Galahad and patted his shoulder. "Come on, my brother! Is this your happy face? You should be celebrating; our freedom is near!"

"But, it is not here yet, remember," answered Galahad.

Galahad saw the look of bewilderment on his friend's face and shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"What the hell!" Galahad shouted, raising his mug of ale. "May I propose a toast, then!"

"Quiet everyone! Galahad's going to charm us with his words!" Gawain chuckled.

The knights faced the youngest man and raised their glasses to him.

"Let us remember we are the lucky ones; let us not forget the brothers we have lost throughout the years. I have never been so good with words..." Galahad admited bluntly.

"We know!" Bors exclaimed, following his statement with fake snoring.

The knights roared with laughter, Galahad as well.

"...I may not always think this way, but I am proud to have served these long years with you all" Galahad felt like he was getting too sentimental as his gaze shifted more towards Tristan. "And...here's to our fallen comrades! May they be remembered and may we live on for them!"

"Here, here!" came the shouts of the knights and they drank.

As Galahad sat down and drank, he peered over at the silent scout. Tristan raised his mug to the youngest knight and drank also.

Two days later the knights stationed their horses atop the hill outside the fortress of Hadrian's Wall. They had not had any woad encounters in days, and this both relieved and worried the knights. The woads had never been so quiet, unless they were planning something.

"Just keep on your guard," Arthur told the others earlier.

He didn't have to tell them twice. The knights seemed to always be on their guard. Galahad was positioned between Tristan and Gawain's fine horses.

He turned to Gawain and asked, "Are you all right, knight?"

It had only been four days since Gawain had been off bed-rest. Gawain patted his chest and smiled.

"Healing nicely," was his reply.

The road was still clear and the knights had been awaiting the Bishop's carriage for an hour all ready.

"So, where is this great Bishop anyway, Arthur?" Lancelot wondered impatiently.

Arthur searched for the sun's position in the sky. "It's only after noon. If all is well, it should be arriving soon."

"If all is well," Lancelot stressed.

"God will see it to be done," Arthur said.

"You and your God, you disturb me," Lancelot grinned from ear to ear.

"I have a firm belief in my faith. Why do you challenge this?" the commander asked.

"I do not challenge you, Arthur, only the person you speak with whom I have never seen," was the first knights reply.

Then, Galahad broke in. "Are you two quite finished? Good, because we have company."

The knights turned their attention to the slender pebble road down the hill. Slowly traveling along was a carriage and a few Roman guards. The knights smiled pleasantly.

"The Bishop's carriage, as promised," Arthur said.

Suddenly, shouts echoed throught the forest and plain as blue-stained men and women poured from the trees.

"Woads!" Tristan said, sending his steed into a full cantar.

The knights immediately followed the scout down the hillside as woads began attacking the Bishop's carriage.

Arthur drew Excalibur and held it high. "Protect the carriage!"

Galahad ran down a group of oncoming woads with his horse, before dismounting and turning about. In one hand he held his sword, in the other, his ax. This fight was more about revenge for Gawain's injuries than protecting the carriage. Galahad figured there were plenty of others doing that part.

After he had disposed of the oncoming woads, Galahad's attention was turned to the woads attacking the carriage. Completing two tasks at once was all right with him. He charged at a woad hanging off the door of the coach, cutting him down instantly. He faultered backwards as two woads grabbed onto his arms. Head-butting one of them, Galahad turned at hit the other with his sword. He picked up his fallen ax just as he was kicked in the face by a third woad. The woad threw sand into Galahad's face afterwards. Blinded for a second, Galahad swung aimlessly at the enemy. Still bent forward, the young knight dove head first into the woad's stomach, knocking him to the ground. Proceeding, he slashed the blue man through the heart.

Regaining his foot holdings, Galahad wiped his eyes and turned to the other battles. He saw Gawain near the water; he was helplessly surrounded by a group of the enemy. Rushing to his friend's side, Galahad lept into the woads, knocking them into the river with him. Suddenly, Galahad found himself trapped under water by the woads. He drew his knife and stabbed them in the legs. He quickly resurfaced long enough to be shot in the side by an archer's arrow. He howled in pain, quickly disposing of the two woads around him.

"Galahad!" he heard somone shout.

Focusing on the arrow, Galahad bit into his tongue hard as he forced it from his left flank. He gasped and coughed at the same time, trying desperately to find his weapons again. Finally, he spotted a sword on the bank of the river. He darted towards the weapon, his bloody hand reaching out for it. Pulling himself from the water, Galahad was met by Gawain, who pulled him out the rest of the way. By then the fight was over and the woads were retreating back into their forest covern.

Dropping the sword he held, Galahad allowed Gawain to help him over to the others. He held his side firmly to keep the blood from flowing.

"Galahad, you are wounded?" Arthur asked concerningly.

Galahad waved his hand dismissively as he sat and caught his breath. "It will be fine until we get back. We must get the carriage back inside Hadrian's Wall first."

Arthur nodded in agreement, patting the man on the arm lightly. The commander exchanged a few words with the Bishop, before he and the knights mounted and escorted the carriage onward. Galahad lifted his hand and gazed down at his bleeding side. The arrow had only struck his left side, put he guessed pulling it out might have caused it to bleed even more. He gritted his teeth and held on so no one would worry about him. Moments later, Galahad began to feel lighted headed. The last thing he remembered was falling off his horse. Then, there was nothing but blackness.

**End, 'Seven.'**


	8. Chapter Eight

**Eight**

Galahad was dreaming. He couldn't recollect of what, but he knew he was dreaming nonetheless. His sudden awareness of this was brought upon as he awakened from sleep in pain. Galahad had turned onto his side; seering pain jolted through his left flank temporarily until he opened his eys and lay his back against the bed again. Examining his surroundings, Galahad realized he was back at his own quarters.

"What happened?" he asked lazily.

A voice responded. "Galahad, you're awake!" It was Gawain. "Thank the Gods!"

The long-haired knight, whom had been watching over Galahad, sat on the bed beside him.

"You had us all scared there for a moment!" Gawain said in a cheery, upbeat voice. "It was a good thing Tristan caught you as you rolled off your saddle!"

"Tristan?" Galahad was slightly in shock.

"Yes," Gawain continued. "Lucky too, otherwise you might have caused yourself further injury. You should have just said something, Galahad!"

Letting out a yawn, Galahad replied, "Our duty was to get the Bishop back, so I thought I could wait."

Gawain frowned slightly. Galahad sparked interest in his facial expression.

"Well, unfortunately the Bishop didn't make it," Gawain said.

Galahad ran his fingers through his curls. "Gods...we failed...how could we fail?"

"Well, I don't care much about that bloody Bishop. His secretary, Horton, was sent back to Rome this morning with a letter from Arthur explaining the unfortunate accident," Gawain answered.

"But that means that we don't get our papers, doesn't it?" Galahad was angry. "And, I risked my life for nothing?"

Gawain lay a hand on Galahad's shoulder. "We did our duty; Rome cannot overlook that much."

"What did Arthur say?" the youngest knight wondered.

"He told us not to worry, to relax for a few days while he sorted everything out. Don't worry, Galahad; you know Arthur will not lead us astray," the older knight responded.

Galahad blew out a deep sigh and ran his fingers around the outline of his lips. He chuckled lightly, feeling the stubble upon his chin. Gawain noticed as well and laughed cheerfully.

"Two days and you are all ready growing a beard!" Gawain teased. "What happened to our Galahad?"

Galahad's bluish-green eyes twinkled, a speck of life within them yet. "He's still here, Gawain. He's just grown up, that's all," he breathed out.

There was a moment of silence between the two men, as Galahad's hand still lay atop of Gawain's. He suddenly felt a strange sensation within himself, yet he did not understand it. Before he had time to think about it, Gawain's lips were upon his, and they were engaged in a long, meaningful kiss. When their lips parted, the two stared at one another again while trying to catch their breath. Galahad's stomach muscles tightened, causing him more pain then pleasure, yet he did not care. He was unsure of what feelings he felt for Gawain, yet in the midst of their kiss Galahad had forgotten about Tristan.

As Gawain leaned over Galahad to kiss him again, the young knight let out a soft groan. The long-haired knight immediately sat back.

"I'm sorry, I hurt you," Gawain said.

"No, it's not that," Galahad replied, sitting up somewhat against his pillows made from feathers and cowhide. "It's just ackward, that's all."

"I should go," Gawain stood, but Galahad grabbed onto his arm.

"No, stay," Galahad pleaded. "The timing is just not right for me...you understand?"

A thin smile played across Gawain's lips. "Of course."

Later that night after Gawain had gone, Galahad lay restless in his bed. His feelings toward Gawain and Tristan were overwhelming. He had thought he was in love with the scout, but now Gawain had shown deep emotion towards him. Should he keep chasing Tristan, this mere phantom whom he loved, or should he allow Gawain in? Gawain had always been there for Galahad, which made him more like a natural brother than any of the other knights. That thought weighed heavily on the knight's mind. Then again, Galahad remembered what Gawain had said about Tristan catching him when he tumbled off the horse. Why would Tristan do that for him? What did that mean? These questions haunted the young man for the remainder of the night.

Dawn came soon enough as the sun's rays poured through the cracks in his quarter's and blinded Galahad. He raised his hands to cover his eyes until he sat up, out of the reach of the bright light. His hand cupped his side, which had been freshly wrapped, he guessed by Gawain earlier on. The pain was not so much anymore, except for the soreness and bruising that is.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Galahad feebly stood. He stretched out his stiffness carefully, so not to irritate his wounded flank. Quickly dressing himself, Galahad tied his cloak around his shoulders and headed outdoors. Taking in breaths of fresh air, Galahad noticed it had snowed during the night. It was only pure fluff, hardly making any crunching sound under his feet. He wandered over to the tavern, guessing that the others would be there now, even at dawn. Perhaps, they might have never left the previous evening.

When he entered, the first person Galahad saw was Gawain. The second was Tristan. Galahad felt the color leave his face. How ackward could this get! Tristan seemed to be in a serene state, plainly playing with his weapons on the side. Gawain was obviously drunk.

"Galahad! Come join us!" Gawain shouted.

The young knight was glad that he and Tristan were the only other knights in the tavern, but he was also uneasy. Galahad nodded to Tristan and sat at the bar near Gawain. The older knight slung his arm around Galahad gently and laughed.

"Where are the others?" asked Galahad.

Gawain said: "Arthur is taking care of business with the papers. The others just left not oo long ago. They were both almost passed out!"

Galahad let out a nervous chuckle. "Perhaps you should be getting back as well."

"Nonesense, I'm fantastic!" Gawain replied, pulling Galahad's face close to his.

The youngest knight's heart lept into the bowels of his stomach as his eyes wandered over to Tristan. The scout kept his face downward, but Galahad could feel his gaze upon him. He knew Gawain was going to say something eventually; he knew he had to get him out of there before he could.

"You know, Galahad, I've always admired you," Gawain led on in his drunken state.

"Let's talk about this later," Galahad suggested.

"Nope, I need to say this now...before I forget," Gawain chuckled.

Galahad continued to watch Tristan. He could feel the tension between the three of them. Holding his breath, Galahad braced himself for the inevitable that was to come.

**End, 'Eight.'**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Nine**

Galahad's sweaty palms were clenched together, ready to knock Gawain unconcious if needs be. The older knight fell silent for a moment, focusing on his drink once again. He slammed the mug down on the counter and laughed idiotically.

"Come on, Gawain," Galahad said. "Let's get you back to your quarters."

"Yes," Tristan added. "Go home and stop making yourself look like a complete imbecile."

Gawain waved his hand dismissively at Tristan. "You're just jealous of Galahad and me!"

The youngest knight grabbed Gawain's empty mug and smashed it into the back of his head. The long-haired knight fell into Galahad as he was knocked unconcious. Galahad landed with Gawain on top of him on the floor. He pulled his legs from under Gawain's dead weight. Leaning close to him, Galahad heard the quiet snores roll from his tongue. He patted the older knight on the shoulder and looked over at Tristan.

"Help me get him back will you?" he asked.

As Tristan threw the unconcious man over his shoulders, he peered down at Galahad who sat on the floor holding his side.

"Coming?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah, yeah, go on ahead. I'll be there in a minute," he replied with a smile.

After the scout left with the snoring Gawain, Galahad heaved forward slightly and let out a stifled cry of pain.

"Fuck!" he cursed under his breath.

His use of word profanity was not only directed towards Gawain's slip-of-the-lip, but also for how his side felt after it it the floor with Gawain atop of him. Galahad's nails dug into the floorboards as he breathed loudly through his teeth.

After collecting himself, Galahad stood and made his way from the tavern. He went to Gawain's quarters post-haste. When he arrived, the scout had dropped Gawain onto his bed, face-down. Tristan shrugged as Galahad sent him a glance. He pulled Gawain over onto his back, biting his lip at the pain it caused him. He was sure that Tristan noticed his agony, because the older knight pushed him aside and finished getting Gawain into bed.

Galahad wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, which was also damp. He couldn't understand how he could be so warm when outside it was so cold.

"Ok?" Tristan said, eyeing the boy's condition.

"I'll live," Galahad answered. "Thanks for getting him back."

"Thanks for knocking him out. You did me a favor, but at your own expense," Tristan noted. "Your wound is bleeding."

Galahad lifted the side of his tunic that was stained crimson. "It's not much. I'll have to change the bandages later."

The young man wiped his face, where sweat was now dripping from his skin. Suddenly, Galahad felt tired and weak.

"You need to get back to your quarters, now, Galahad," the scout ordered. "You're feverish; a common element associated with wounds like yours."

Tristan followed Galahad back to his room, making sure he didn't faint along the way. He lay back on his bed, his face now completely flushed with fever.

"Hot..." Galahad muttered. "So...hot..."

Tristan sat the man forward and gently peeled his damp tunic off, exposing his old battle scars and fresh wounds. He draped the article of clothing over a chair and lit a candle beside the sick man's bed. Galahad's eyes were closed and he began mutterting soft words to himself. When the scout decyphered Galahad's words, he realized he was repeated the same line from a song over and over again: We will go home across the mountains. He recollected the words from a song Vanora, Bors' woman sang one night.

Tristan went and retrieved water and bandages nearby. When he returned, he undressed the old bandages from Galahad's wounds and began cleaning and re-dressing them. He had managed to stop the small holes from bleeding and quickly tied off the fresh bandages. Galahad hadn't moved at all whilst he had been working on his injuries, for the fever had taken him in to a dangerous level. His first instinct was to report to Arthur and get the youngest knight proper treatment, but then he remembered that Arthur was away on business. There was no one else to remedy Galahad, save for him.

He covered up the knight to his neck, trying to sweat out his fever. "Hold on, I will return," Tristan told Galahad, though it was not likely the young man heard him at all.

Tristan left Galahad's quarters and immediately went to the stables for his horse. Jols, the knight's squire, smiled up at him as he entered.

"Has Arthur returned?" Tristan asked.

"No, sir, he hasn't," Jols replied. "Anything I can do for you, though, sir?"

Tristan mounted his horse bareback and looked down at the thin man. "Just go about your business."

"Yes, sir," Jols answered as Tristan rode off.

Tristan flanked his dark steed and raced into the forest. He had no armor of any kind, but had his trusty curved blade at his side. He rode quickly to the spot he had seen a special sort of plant the other day on their way back from the mission. It was a long, vine-looking plant that only herb-healers knew about. Smashing it in a bowl until it was paste-like made it perfectly appliable to an infected wound, such as Galahad's. After collecting a handful of the plant, Tristan returned to Galahad's quarters. Jols took his horse and the two exchanged no more words.

He bent over Galahad and looked at the man's pupils. They were enlarged and unresponsive, yet Tristan was relieved that his breathing stayed normal. That was a healthy sign. Tristan mushed the plant in a small bowl with some water until it was paste-like. Lifting part of the loose wrapping along Galahad's flank, he applied the medicine directly into the holes. Then, he re-dressed the wounds.

Leaning close to the youngest knight's ear, he whispered, "We will go home soon, Galahad, I promise. Soon."

Admiring his work for a moment, Tristan sat back in a chair in the corner. He slouched down in his seat as he was prepared to watch Galahad's condition throughout the rest of the day. If he could make it without complication into the night, Tristan knew Galahad's illness would subside and his wounds would continue to heal accordingly.

**End, 'Nine.'**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Ten**

Dawn was breaking, a light shown through the cracks of the boarded up window. The last storm had caused so much damaged to the inside of Galahad's quarters, that he had put up boards to give the window frame some support. From some added decoration, he had tied a maroon colored cloth over the top of the window. The rest of his room was so...ugly...that he thought he should have at least that much color abroad.

Sounds of women doing their chores and children playing a game of knights outside roused Galahad from his peaceful slumber. He opened his eyes, slowly adjusting his gaze until his vision was clear once again. He felt rejuvinated, like he had been asleep for a year. His body still ached somewhat, especially around his left flank. He pressed his fingers lightly over the newly wrapped wounds, but to his astounishment, the holes did not bleed or hurt much anymore.

A broad smile crossed the youngest knight's lips as his sparkling gaze shifted to the corner of his room. In the wooden chair Tristan lay sleeping, his legs and arms sprawled out in an uncomfortable position. His knotty dark hair was messy on either side of his face as his head rested on the wall behind him. His deep eyes were still closed, his face and body seemed to be relaxed in his sleep. It was a most pleasant sight for Galahad to see the scout at such peace when he was usually stressed and tensed. He watched him in wonderment, like a child would look at a horse for the first time before riding it. It was simply beautiful.

Galahad rose from his bed slowly, giving his body the chance to keep up with his sudden movements. The candle beside his bed was now nothing but a pile of melted wax. The room was now light by the brilliant rays of sun that pryed its way through the looser window boards. It was nice to see the sun out again after so many days of clouded darkness. Galahad bent down carefully while retreiving his tunic from the floor. He slipped it over his head and noted the dried blood on one side. Perhaps Vanora would mend and wash it for him. It was one of his last shirts, and with the still oncoming winter months, he knew he would need it. Slipping on his boots and cloak, Galahad went to the door. He did not wish to disturb Tristan, so he left quietly.

Crossing the courtyard to Bors' and Vanora's quarters, Galahad was practically knocked backward as the door flew open and many small children came rushing out. Galahad honestly didn't know how Bors could fit so many persons in his small place. Then again, he couldn't understand how he could have so many children either. The last child, small girl of about six, bumped into Galahad's leg as she exited the place. She peered up at him with her large brown eyes. She looked more like Vanora than Bors, but that was probably a good thing. A moment later she was gone, chasing after her brothers and sisters.

Entering the couple's quarters, he saw Vanora sitting near the fireside with Bors. On Bors' lap was a baby, cooing and giggling at the bear-man. Bors chuckled heartily and looked up when he entered.

"Galahad! Good to see you up and about, boy!" Bors exclaimed. "Come to pay ol' Bors a visit, eh?"

"You got the old part right," Vanora smiled, tickling the baby as he bounced on Bors' knee.

"You didn't say anything last night!" Bors laughed.

Vanora gave him a look that sent him into a fit of laughter. Galahad rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smiling.

"So, what brings you to my humble home, knight?" Bors asked.

"I actually came to ask Vanora if she had the time to mend some of my clothes," Galahad replied, glancing over at the woman.

Vanora was a fairly short, slim, and handsome woman. She was still quite young compared to Bors, only a few years older than Galahad. Her eyes held such enchanment within them, and her smile was one that caused men to smile back. Vanora often flirted with the other knights and they flirted back. This often sent Bors into a jealous rage, checking each of his children over for any sign they could belong to Lancelot or another.

Smiling warmly, Vanora stood and walked over to Galahad. He handed her his worn out, stained tunic and exchanged few words of thanks to her.

Bors said, "Come on back later tonight. Dag and me are going to have a few drinks. If you see the others tell them to make an appearance if their royal majesties wish it."

His voice was mocking and his words ended in chuckles. Vanora sat down on the floor in front of the fire with a needle and thread and Galahad's tunic.

"Come back later and you'll find your shirt finished," she promised.

Galahad nodded his thanks again to the couple and exited their quarters.

As Galahad crossed the courtyard again, he met up with Lancelot who happen to be crossing the same path at the same time. He stopped his midnight black steed in front of the youngest knight. The horse snorted and neighed softly, awaiting his master's next command. The knight himself was in an upbeat mood as he clasped hands with Galahad for a moment.

"Glad to see you feeling better," Lancelot said. "We were beginning to worry about you, knight."

"No you weren't," Galahad said with a smile.

Lancelot returned a grin and said, "You're right, but I am still glad you are feeling better. How are your wounds?"

"Healing nicely, I hope. Where were you off to this morning, then?" Galahad wondered.

"I was just thinking about riding out to the wall. Arthur is to return this day," the first knight answered. "Bors and Dagonet are to join me when I leave later. I suppose Gawain and Tristan as well once they roll their lazy arses out of bed."

Galahad was confused. "You didn't ask me?"

Lancelot frowned and rested his hands across his lap. "I would think you would still be in too much pain to ride. Wouldn't want to cause yourself exertion, would you?"

"I thought we were going over to Bors' tonight for drinks. That's what he told me at least."

"We are, but then we're riding out afterwards. We can ride out to meet Arthur and return before darkness to avoid woad activity if possible."

"I can ride as well as the rest of you, wounded or not. You're not leaving me behind to miss all the fun."

"Good, then I'll see you this evening. Tell Gawain and Tristan, too, if you see them."

"My guess is Gawain's still passed out from the drink yesterday."

Lancelot laughed at the comment, images of amusement popping into his mind.

"Well, he'll be up for tonight; I know he wouldn't miss this for the world," Lancelot added before riding off.

Galahad returned to his quarters to check on Tristan. When he entered his room, though, the scout was no where in sight. Galahad sighed contently, for he did not expect him to be there. Tristan could slip in and out of shadows like wind through a fence. He then took it upon himself to look in on Gawain. He found the long-haired knight outside chopping wood outside his place. If he would have been in Gawain's place, he'd still be in bed. He approached the slightly older knight as he bent down to pile up wood beside the bricks.

"Mornin', Galahad!" Gawain said with a smile.

"Gawain, how's that hangover treating you?" Galahad asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I wouldn't know," the knight shrugged and added, "I'm still drunk."

"Perfect for tonight, then," Galahad said. "We're riding outside the wall to meet Arthur on his return. Afterwards we're going back to the tavern for some drinks."

Curiosity struck Gawain. "You're not well enough to ride, knight. It was not a day or so ago you received those nasty arrow wounds."

"Lancelot was the same way towards me, but I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I'll not be having you all treating me like an infant. I have rested and am well enough to ride."

"Don't do so much so fast, Galahad. You'll end up killing yourself one of these days."

"I'm just following your lead."

"And, my body's taking the aftershock from it."

"I'll live, I'm a fighter. You taught me to be that way, no matter what the situation, right?"

Gawain let out a snort and reluctantly nodded. "Just take it easy out there tonight, all right?"

Galahad nodded, for he had planned on it.

**End, 'Ten.'**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Eleven**

The knights rode along the path that lead away from Hadrian's Wall. By the calculations of the sun's position in the dark blue sky, it was past mid-day. If the knights wanted to get back before nightfall with Arthur, they'd have to meet up with their commander soon.

"Where exactly are we meeting Arthur?" Gawain asked Lancelot.

"He should be coming up this road soon," Lancelot replied.

Tristan's gaze lay on the forest. "The trees are too quiet today. Better pray that we don't cross any woad today."

Galahad looked at the scout strongly. "Why not? Today's a good day for a fight."

Tristan glared at him suspiciously. "But, it's not a good day to die."

"No day is a good day to die," Galahad replied.

Dagonet broke in saying, "Nobody is going to die today, or anyday soon. Can't you two ever just get along?"

Galahad and Tristan dared not look at one another again. Tristan veered his horse around and said, "I'm going out again."

The knights watched the scout ride away until he was out of sight. The road seemed to go on for miles without any turns at all. It would have been more exciting now to even see a cow roaming the plains, but there was nothing. The knights sighed with discontent. Their horses neighed softly, feeling their masters' restlessness.

Back at Hadrian's Wall, Arthur rode proudly back inside the protection of the fortress. He had returned earlier than expected by taking a shorter route home. He was immediately apporached by Squire Jols, who smiled hapilly at seeing his commander.

"Welcome back, sir," Jols said. "I trust you had a good journey."

'Yes, I have," he said looking around. "Where are my knights; I shall speak with them over a drink."

Jols frowned and looked bewildered. "They rode out to meet you. Are they not here with you?"

"I did not see them" Arthur said. "Perhaps they took the villagers road whilst I took a different route."

"Those woads haven't been giving you trouble, have they?" Jols wondered.

"I took a path near the river, one that the woads probably don't even know about. I didn't want to take any chances," Arthur answered, shifting uneadily in his seat. "Perhaps I will ride out to my knights. Bring me a fresh horse."

Jols nodded respectively and quickly brought his commander a new horse. Arthur patted the steed's snout as it blew hot air onto his cool hands. It was a beautiful horse painted white with a few black spots on its rear. He mounted and nodded his thanks to Squire Jols and headed out once again.

A half hour later, Tristan rejoined the group. Bors looked up at the scout and chuckled.

"So, how many woads did you see?" he asked.

"Four," Tristan said.

"And, how many did you kill?" Gawain added.

"Seven," Tristan replied. "They were hidden amongst the trees. We should turn back now. I found tracks along the river; I believe it is the route Arthur could have taken."

"So, we are bloody freezes our arses off out here and Arthur's all ready nice and toasty by the fireside!" Bors said gruffly.

"It wasn't all that bad," Galahad commented.

"Yeah, it got you off your fat arse for a few hours, didn't it?" Lancelot added with smile.

Bors pointed to his rear and made a kissing noise towards Lancelot. The knights erupted with laughter. Galahad laughed so hard that he had to hold his side from the ache it gave him. He peered over at the scout, who seemed to watch him, and nodded curtly to him. The knights started back towards Hadrian Wall, when suddenly a wave of arrows flew from the trees at emptied into the air.

"Look yonder!" Tristan pointed out.

"Let's go!" Lancelot shouted, grasping his twin blades and steering his horse with his legs.

The arrows rained down on the single Sarmation knight traveling alone. Arthur drew Excalibur and looked to the trees, awaiting an ambish by the woads. Vile birds soared overhead, waiting for something or someone to die so they could feed. Out of the blue came a light brown hawk. It swooped down and called out to Arthur as woads clad in mud and Earth initiated their attack.

Arthur rode towards them, running down a few in his path. He threw Excalibur up in the air and caught it upside down again. He ran his blade through one woad's throat, and turned to cut off another's head. The head rolled down the hill as the woad's blody seemed to stand a moment more before collapsing to the ground.

"Arthur!" Lancelot called as he and the others joined the fight. He looked over at Arthur. "Miss us?"

"Artorious!" Bors growled. "Rus! Rus!"

"Rus!" the knights answered in unison.

Tristan drew back his Sarmation bow until the tip seemed to touch him. He released three arrows at a time toward the woads, and each time three woads fell. He noticed their green and brown look today. Some days the woads were blue, other days they wore colors that blended them into the Earth. They were like chameleons, changing their skin to suit their surroundings.

Gawain threw his lance and it impailed one woad. The woad screamed a bloody cry and fell to the ground. Picking up his weapon, Gawain wheeled around and charged down an entire line of woads. Bors took down the enemy with his bow while Dagonet impailed them mercelessly with his axe and club. Galahad wielded his broadsword with his right hand, trying to save his left side the extra pain. One woads tried to jump Gawain's horse from behind, but Galahad cut him down as he passed by.

The fight was soon over; the knights were victorious as the woads retreated back into the forest.

After congratulating one another on their success, the knights continued to ride back towards Hadrian's Wall. Gawain rode beside Galahad, who seemed mildly pleased with himself.

"How's your side?" Gawain asked.

"Hurts like a bitch, thanks for asking!" Galahad replied with a grin. "I must say it was an interesting thing using my sword in my right hand. I actually think I prefer my right hand to my left when it comes to using a weapon."

"Well, preference is one thing, but mastering the skill is far more important!" Gawain reminded him.

"Let us all be glad when we get back to the tavern," Bors said. "We can drink away the world!

"You do that every night," Gawain said.

"That's true!" Bors laughed out loudly.

"I'll be looking forward to the company more so than the drink tonight!" Lancelot flashed his famous grin.

"I told you all ready, Lancelot, I won't sleep with you!" Gawain teased, sending the knights into a fit of laughter.

Galahad peered over his shoulder at the lone scout that trailed behind the laughingstock up front. He dropped back and waited for the scout to rejoin him.

"I wanted to thank you for the other night," Galahad said to him.

"I did what anyone would do," Tristan replied.

Galahad shook his head. "You're wrong, though, most people wouldn't have done what you did. Thank you, Tristan."

The scout nodded. "You're welcome, Galahad."

The two knights rode silently side by side the rest of the way.

**End, 'Eleven.'**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Twelve**

Galahad's mind was cluttered with thoughts and feelings that overwhelmed him. He flinched when Tristan snapped his head upward to an alerted attention. The scout began riding forward at a quicker pace.

"Tristan?" Galahad said, raising his gaze to follow the scout.

Soon, Galahad was fully aware of what Tristan's intentions were. The outer shell of Hadrian's Wall was under a full-fledged attack ahead.

"Damn!" he heard Lancelot shout. "Those blasted woads were only distracting us!

"Let's ride, knights!" Arthur exclaimed, waving Excalibur high above his head.

Galahad drew his broadsword with his right hand, his fingernails gripping into the leathery handle as he intensely rode. Tristan was all ready drawing back and releasing arrows toward enemy woads from a long distance. On top of the high wall, light Roman infantry fell left and right to their deaths. Their final screams like a dagger in the pit of Galahad's stomach. He clenched tight his jaw, and held a tight grip on his weapon. This was the largest assault by the woads he had ever seen.

"Dragon formation!" Arthur commanded.

Tristan and Galahad moved to the front in the position for the "eyes." Gawain, Lancelot, and Arthur made up the "body" and "wings" of the beast. Dagonet and Bors were the dragon's "tail." This technique was thought up by Arthur to steady his knights into a single driving force.

Woads turned their gaze upon the knights from every direction. Their large dark eyes burned with murderous intent from behind their ghost-like faces. As the knights reached the wall, the first line of woads charged towards them while the second still climbed the wall, desperate to make their way inside.

"Archers!" Lancelot warned.

Tristan and Bors aimed carefully at the woad archers on the wall and made every arrow count. Bors brought down a woad with every arrow, while Tristan brought down three every time. Gawain jolted his lance into a line of four woads, the force knocking them clean off their feet. He wheeled his horse about and trampled them as they lay helpless under the weapon. Gawain replaced his lance with his battle axe, which he swung ferociously at the enemy.

A woad archer released an arrow pointed at Galahad. Tristan took him out just as the arrow impailed Galahad's horse. The horse whinneyed out with pain as it went headlong into the ground. The horse's body flipped upward as Galahad was thrown from its back. He moved before the creature's massive body crashed back to the ground. Galahad struggled to his feet and picked up his sword. Three Earth-clad woads charged towards him, shouting out their individual battle cries. Galahad easily parried one woad's weapon and turned forced him backwards into the sword of another's. The woad let out a long cry before Galahad thrusted his sword through his throat. The third woad was more clever, standing back and awaiting the knight to finish with its kin. The youngest knight's back was to him as he lifted his sword to strike him down. Suddenly, two arrows whizzed through the air and impailed the woad in the back. As the enemy fell to the ground, Galahad looked up to see Tristan behind him.

The scout's rugged face was painted with the enemy's blood. "Watch your back," he said, ducking as Galahad through a dagger over his head. Behind him a woad shrieked and keeled over dead.

"Watch yours as well," Galahad replied with a grin.

Lancelot, noticing the two knights conversing calming in the midsts of a battle, shouted over to them. "If you two lovebirds are quite finished, we could use some help over here!"

He pivited with his twin blades and decapitated two woads. The bodies collided as they fell flat at his feet.

"On the wall!" Arthur shouted in Bors and Tristan's direction.

Tristan and Bors immediately brought down the remaining woads on the wall with their Sarmatian bows. A woad that lay half-dead on the ground sneakily grasped a dead man's dagger and lifted himself enough to thrust it into Tristan's upper back. Tristan chest heaved up towards the heavens as he leaned backwards in utter agony. The woad spit blood at Tristan as he managed to turn and run his sword throught the enemy's throat. Blood bubbled from the muddy man's throat and mouth as he collapsed to the ground dead.

"They're retreating!" Dagonet's voice echoed throughout the plains and rolling hills.

As a long-haired woad swung his sword towards Arthur madly, his throat was met within inches of Excalibur. The woad gulped and groveled on his knees in spite of himself. He dropped his weapon aside and peered up at the glaring Arthur. As the rest of the knights made sure the other woads were clearing out, they gathered around Arthur and the man on his knees.

Galahad went to Tristan's aide, noticing the blade in the scout's back. Tristan tried to reach around to pull it out, but could not. He stood up completely with Galahad's help.

"I cannot reach the knife, so you must pull it out," Tristan told him.

Galahad nodded, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the dagger. In one swift motion, he yanked the blade from the scout's back and blood began to flow. He applied pressure to the wound and the scout eyes were filled with both pain and relief. Then, the knights watched the scene before them with great intrigue.

"Why has Merlin sent you north of the wall?" Arthur asked the woad.

"I will tell you nothing," the man answered in an ancient Celtic dialogue. Arthur was the only person that could understand the man's words, but the knights understood by the two's actions.

Arthur clipped the skin on the woad's neck. He repeated, "Why has Merlin sent you north of the wall!"

"Spill my blood with Excalibur and make this ground holy!" the woad spat at him.

Lancelot, aggravated, held his blades at the sides of the woad's head. "My commander may is a man of respect, but I, on the other hand, will not be so generous as to kill you quickly. If you do not tell him what we need to know, I will begin slicing off body parts, beginning with your ears."

The enemy glared up at Lancelot defiantly and blew out breaths of hot air. Arthur put the man in a choke-hold and said, "Go back and tell Merlin that we will kill him and every last woad in this world if he does not stay south of Hadrian's Wall."

Then, Arthur released the man, who squirmishly retreated back into the forest. The knights could feel the dark wizard's gaze upon them through the trees, and knew he had heard everything. A few moments later, the feeling of being watched subsided and the forest was once again quiet.

It had been nearly a week since the woads' last attack. Perhaps Merlin was wise to heed Arthur's warning, or maybe, he, too, was afraid. Arthur had briefed the knights on his business he had completed away from Hadrian's Wall. He said that they would stay stationed here for another year, or until the woad threat ended. Rome was seding any army to extinguish that problem, so the knights were basically on babysitting duty for the families at Hadrian's Wall. This decision bothered some more than others, but the knights were relieved to still be alive and together through all of this.

Galahad watched Tristan in Badon Hill from afar. He had followed the scout to the gravesite of fallen warriors and had been waiting there for an hour before he conjured up enough courage to approach the older knight.

Tristan stood in front of Percival's grave, his head bowed and his eyes closed.

"Do you still mourn for him, Tristan?" Galahad asked.

"No," Tristan replied, raising his gaze to meet Galahad's. "I've just come to say good-bye."

Galahad watched curiously as Tristan came face-to-face with him. His brown sugar curls swayed to one side of his face as his bluish-green eyes stared into Tristan's deep gaze. Slowly but surely, the scout's masculine hand rose to caress Galahad's youthful face. The young man let out a sigh of relief and he shuddered slightly at Tristan's touch.

"Someone once told me to stop running from the past and live on," Tristan whispered.

The young knight ran his fingers across Tristan's cheeks and bent inward, kissing him lightly on the lips.

Galahad lifted his chin and smiled contently. He replied, "Here. Now."

**End, 'Twelve.'**

**The End.**


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